


More With Each Day

by TripleTea



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: AU, Angst, Bit of Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, One Shot, TB AU, mostly angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-11 10:13:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20151949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TripleTea/pseuds/TripleTea
Summary: Sister Bernadette was meant to be at the sanatorium, instead she was standing at his door, habit and all.





	More With Each Day

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written in a long time. #Personalreasons  
Recently however I've been on a CTM kick.  
I love Shelagh/Patrick, and I also love angst. Don't ask why because I don't know.  
(Probably some artistic license...)  
Forgive any typos/mistakes.

Patrick had expected a patient, or even a friendly face from Nonnatus. What he hadn’t expected was Sister Bernadette, stood on his doorstep, bag in hand.

For a moment he was speechless, ‘Sister?’ It was all he could muster. He hadn’t seen her weeks. His last memory of her walking away from him at the sanatorium, and his heart aching from it.

‘Doctor Turner,’ she started, ‘forgive the intrusion…’ she trailed off.

He stood back, ‘Please, come in.’ She did, passing over the threshold and brushing past him, coming to a stop in the narrow hallway. Patrick shut the door softly before turning to face her, ‘I wasn’t expecting you.’ He reached out to take her bag, and she let him. He placed it down on the carpet.

‘I’m sorry,’ she began anew, ‘I was supposed to be going to Nonnatus but I found myself at your door instead.’

Patrick eyed her curiously but said nothing. The Sister was wringing her hands together, a sign Patrick knew to be nerves. He cleared his throat, ‘I’ll make some tea.’ He turned and walked off down the hallway, disappearing into a side room. Sister Bernadette followed him a little cautiously. She entered the small living space, which connected to the even smaller kitchen. She’d never been in his home before, so she took her time looking around before she sat down on the empty sofa.

In the kitchen, Patrick glanced out at her, resting almost awkwardly on the settee. She was wearing her habit still, and he tried not to be disheartened, no matter how hard it was. He focused on the tea, but the soft sounds of crying interrupted his efforts. He paused, swallowed. He ignored the tea and moved out into the longue.

‘Sister…’ he walked calmly over to where she was sat and knelt down in front of her, ‘What’s wrong?’ he wanted to very much to reach out and take her hands in his, but he daren’t. She turned her head away, not wanting to look at him, or not wanting him to see her in her current state he didn’t know. There was silence between them, aside from her sniffling, trying to regain her composure. Patrick dug in his pocket for his handkerchief and offered it to her, letting the fabric touch her hand, ‘Here.’ She took it, but didn’t turn back.

Patrick made to stand, ‘Shall I call for Sister Julienne?’ He jumped as Sister Bernadette suddenly turned and grasped his arm with her hands.

‘No.’ she said, blue eyes pleading from behind her glasses.

Patrick returned to his knees before her, ‘Alright…’ he didn’t try and remove her hands, ‘… will you talk to me...?’

Her gaze softened, ‘Oh… I want to…’ she pulled away from him, collected her hands together in her lap. She looked at him, his dark eyes almost piercing her very soul, ‘…can I… can I call you Patrick?’

Patrick quirked an eyebrow at her, ‘Of course, Sister. Whatever makes you more comfortable.’ He watched as she visibly relaxed. She said nothing but her hands moved to her wimple, and she slowly removed it, setting it down beside her on the sofa. She followed suit with her coif. Her eyes were downcast, and her hands came back to rest in her lap.

‘I don’t understand Sister…’ Patrick said, voice quiet and calming.

‘Please,’ she looked up, their eyes met, ‘call me Shelagh.’

He couldn’t look away from her, ‘Shelagh… why are you…’ he trailed off as he ran his eyes over her, taking in what had previously been hidden away.

‘I asked them if I could come home.’ She replied, lifting a hand to her hair, tied in a bun. She undid it, and her hair fell around her face.

‘You’ve not finished your treatment.’ Patrick told her, almost admonishing her.

She nodded, ‘I suppose I haven’t.’

‘You _must_.’

‘Patrick…’ she reached her hands to his face, ‘I don’t have tuberculosis.’

His face lit up, ‘The treatment has worked!?’ he laughed and stumbled to his feet with enthusiasm, ‘That’s a new record surely.’ He grasped Shelagh by the hands and pulled her to her feet, but she showed no interest in sharing in his joy. Patrick noticed, and he fell silent, her hands still in his.

‘The treatment didn’t work Patrick…’ she squeezed his hands as best she could, ‘because I never had tuberculosis.’ She saw the colour in his face drain, his breath hitched in his throat.

‘No.’ he said with a shake of his head, ‘Gods no, Sister…’ he chided himself, ‘Shelagh… tell me it’s not…’ he brought her hands up to his chest and held them close.

‘I can’t,’ she said softly, ‘I’d be lying.’ She leant into him, buried her face in his shoulder, breathed him in. It soothed her to no end. Patrick let go of her hands and quickly embraced her. Her habit would be wrinkled, he thought offhandedly.

‘How long?’ he asked, his face against her head, her hair tickling his cheek. He felt her arms snake around him.

‘Long enough.’ She replied, muffled, ‘I got this moment with you… finally.’

His heart felt like that moment back when he left her at the sanatorium, ‘Fairly shoddy circumstances.’ He heard and felt her laugh into his chest.

‘Patrick.’

They drew apart. He looked down at her, ‘Shelagh.’

‘I’m going to fight.’ She said firmly, ‘I won’t leave you without one.’

‘I’m very glad to hear you say that. I just got you, I don’t want to lose you so soon.’

She smiled, ‘You won’t ever lose me dear. I’m stronger than you think.’

‘Gods I hope so.’ He lent down to her and kissed her softly. She smiled into it and when they parted, she ran her fingers tenderly across his jaw.

‘I love you.’ She breathed.

Patrick cupped her face gently, ‘I love you.’

_‘More with each day.’_

**Author's Note:**

> Did I mention I LOVE angst..? (:  
I had this idea and had to write it... anyway, bye.


End file.
